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by Kalira



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, First Age, Introspection, Nargothrond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-10-30 23:58:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10887615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalira/pseuds/Kalira
Summary: Galadriel walks the walls of Nargothrond and thinks on her family and her home.





	Home

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as part of a Music Shuffle Challenge, for the song Family Portrait (P!nk). Given the song and . . . well, Galadriel's family, it turned out remarkably soft.

Galadriel walked a large circuit inside Nargothrond, weaving through the occasional groups of people she passed with little more than the whispery sound of her skirts on stone as she skirted too close to the walls.

It had changed little, as she had expected, since she had last walked this path, before her marriage. Over a century passed by, with many changes wrought both by and within Galadriel - even that name for herself; when last she had walked here, it had not yet been spoken - and the great hidden city could almost have been frozen in time since her departure.

She looked up, the shadow of something that tried to be a smile slipping onto her features. The device on the flag of her favourite brother showed its likeness to the rest of their kin in form; waving arms that called forth the memory of a spiral, stabbing through the trap of a circle locked within a diamond.

It suited them all. Ever so complex, her family. Ever so lost, it seemed.

Not that she was one to speak on such a matter. Galadriel sighed, the twisting lines of silver and gold - so reminiscent of the branches of a malinornë \- that emblazoned her own device circling behind her eyes.

None of the children of Doriath favoured the harsh lines of the diamond, and Galadriel had conceded to Celeborn’s alterations easily - their joined device called to mind the wide, protective loop of Melian’s Girdle, as all those of Doriath chose to do, in honour of their Queen.

It had pleased Galadriel to have a good reason to do away with the sharp edges of her family’s designs, as well as to honour the beloved teacher who had guided her so well through so much.

When the next high, narrow flight of steps appeared, Galadriel took them, heading for the highest point - aside from the citadel’s tower - within Nargothrond.

Her steps were as light as they had been her first day climbing this very route, when she had been considerably younger, and the wall considerably shorter.

The steps then had been rough-hewn and all but makeshift, Finrod’s builders having been more concerned, at his direction, with the immediacy of securing the haven.

The wind snapped at her flowing hair, and her lips quirked, a happier expression this time, as one nearly-glowing strand swept before her face, brushing her nose. At odd moments, she would still remember Celeborn’s gentle teasing when he had dubbed her Galadriel.

She turned out, and almost could have fancied she could see the crowns of the trees of Doriath from here, though she knew it was impossible, particularly on such a dark day.

Her home, where her husband would soon be returning. Before she did, no doubt.

A ringing crack shivered from the sky and through the stones beneath Galadriel’s slippered feet, startling her, though her only reaction was to rest one palm on the wall before her.

Tipping her head back, Galadriel could see the stirring, understated strength of a building storm, and knew she should return to the citadel before her brother began to worry. He always did, though she was long past being an elfling in need of him prepared to come to her rescue at every turn. If, indeed, she ever had been.

She sighed, fingertips dragging along the parapet, tempted to slide off her slippers and run along the wall in the freshness of the oncoming storm, to rejoice in the heavy thrum of power in the air.

Instead, she turned, with a last long look at the imagined shadow of the deep green canopy far across the land, near the horizon, and descended the steps slowly, as she should.

There was a playful smirk hiding at one corner of her full lips, though. Next time a storm swept through their home she fully intended to lead Celeborn a merry chase through the wide, arched branches of the trees, amidst the sparkle of the rain and the song of the wind.

She didn’t think he would mind, his warm smile rising in her mind.


End file.
